


Laundry Room

by bri_ness



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Fluff and Humor, M/M, POV Alternating, This one's just fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-10-25 17:04:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17729258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bri_ness/pseuds/bri_ness
Summary: There's someone in Isak's building who always leaves his clothes in the washer.There's someone in Even's building who always takes his clothes out of the washer.





	Laundry Room

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this while procrastinating taking my own laundry out of the dryer. (I only share the machines with one other person. I'm not a monster).
> 
> Enjoy!

Every fucking time.

Isak heaves the asshole’s clothes out of the washer because he’s in a turning-underwear-inside-out laundry emergency, and the only, _only_ time he can put a load in is during the brief hour between when he gets home from work and when he leaves for class. He has the timing down to a science: his wash finishes within minutes of him coming home, so the first thing he does is put his clothes in the dryer because he’s not a monster.

Unlike this fucking person, who consistently leaves their clothes in the wash so long they’re barely damp when Isak pulls them out. And Isak knows it’s the same culprit, always finding the same Biggie Smalls shirt as evidence. In what he knows is not his best quality, Isak delights in leaving them on top of the washing machine: this person deserves clothes that smell like mold.

But really, Isak always enters the laundry room in a bad mood because he’s coming home from doing _more fucking laundry._ He works at a gym as a Customer Experience Advocate, which means he sells people personal training sessions they don’t need or want _and_ washes their sweaty towels. And that’s only two of his many talents!

He hates it. He fucking hates it. And he hates not getting a proper break before class because holy shit, the last thing he wants to do is listen to a monotone professor drone on about the _symbolism of the red door_ in a book Isak was supposed to read. Because he’s a first year, he has to take general classes like literature, history, psychology--actually, psychology’s been ok. But he is the one person in those classes who knows what he wants to do, so why the fuck can’t he skip straight to the labs?

He just has no time. And no money, which is why he procrastinates before spending it on laundry. That could be a _coffee._ And he hates, _hates_ people like this one, who he has officially dubbed Laundry Room Dick in his head, who can forget about their laundry because they have the time and the money to simply do it again.

Isak puts his load in the now-empty washing machine, and purely out of spite, throws Laundry Room Dick’s shirt on the floor.

Some people are just inconsiderate.

\---

“Seriously? This happens every fucking time.”

Sonja groans as she takes their clothes off the top of the washer, putting them back in the laundry basket because there’s no empty machine.

“I’m sorry,” Even says.

“It’s just—we’re throwing money away, Even. And now our apartment’s going to smell like shit. Why didn’t you just text me that you forgot to do it?”

Even’s not trying to be a smartass when he says, “Because I forgot,” but Sonja raises her eyebrows at him anyway. “No, really,” he continues. “I completely forgot.”

Sonja’s frown changes from annoyed to concerned, and Even knows exactly what’s coming. “How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine.”

“Even.”

He really is fine. Yes, he’s recovering from an episode where he spent two weeks in bed, where he not only didn’t have the energy to do laundry, but only couldn’t give two shits if his clothes were clean or not. But he’s doing better, and while it’s true that he’s sick, it’s also true that he’s lazy. And sometimes forgetful. Sonja wants to make all of his negative traits a symptom, but sometimes Even wishes she’d just call him out on his shit.

Sonja drops her concern when Even doesn’t entertain it. “Honestly,” she says, examining one of her tops. “Who does this? They couldn’t wait fifteen minutes for another machine to be free?”

“Guess not.”

“We should leave a note.”

“No. We’re not becoming people who leave notes. They are the worst kind of people.”

“It won’t be mean. Just something like: hey, we all share this space, so let’s treat each other’s clothes like our own.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s my fault, anyway.”

At least Sonja doesn’t argue with that.

\---

_Hi! Friendly reminder that we all use this laundry room, so let’s be respectful of other people’s things. Some examples:_

  1. _Clean out the lint tray when you’re done_
  2. _If someone forgets a piece of clothing in the dryer, bring it to the lost and found_
  3. _DO NOT take clothes out of the washer OR dryer. Wait for a free machine._



_Thanks! :)_

\---

_Hey. This is not a friendly reminder. Take your fucking clothes out of the washer AND dryer when they’re done._

_Thanks! :)_

\---

Even’s on laundry duty because Sonja can’t step into the laundry room without engaging in passive-aggressive-sticky-note combat. Even has an ethical objection to the war, which is that people who leave passive aggressive sticky notes are the fucking worst.

On the elevator back from putting his clothes in the wash, he’s joined by a guy carrying a backpack that’s clearly weighing him down, mumbling on his cellphone.

He’s cute. And he’s pissed.

“I already told you that I can’t come…because I have exams, and work…no, I can’t take a break. I don’t have time to take a fucking break…no, you’ve lost the right to get mad at for me cursing…I don’t fucking care.”

There’s a long pause.

“Are you really saying it’s important for me to be there right now? You want to talk about how often you’ve been there for either of us?...I’m not dwelling on the past, I’m just fucking—you know what, nevermind. Bye.”

He hangs up, then looks at Even like he just realized he wasn’t alone, his demeanor changing from angry to anxious. Even understands that it’s a short bridge from one emotion to another. “Shit,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok.”

“No, I—I usually reserve my rants for the shower.”

He smiles, and Even sees the invitation.

“My best arguments are the ones I win in the shower. I’m witty, but also damning.”

He laughs. Even’s proud of himself for that.

“You live in this building?”

“Eighth floor.” Even says just as the number lights up.

“See you around, then?”

Even likes him. Likes that he’s comfortable enough in his own anger to express it, but also that he recognizes when it’s inappropriate and apologizes for that. Likes that he calls himself out on his own shit.

“Hopefully.”

It’s wrong for Even to flirt, he knows that, but he also knows what’s coming. Upon entering his apartment, Sonja’s waiting for him.

“We should talk.”

\---

Isak can’t stop thinking about that guy.

To be fair, it’s been maybe two minutes since he met him in the elevator, but another one of Isak’s many talents is that he thinks about more in two minutes than most people do in two hours. His history exam tonight. The customer who complained about him this morning. Laundry. His ever-depleting bank account. What he’s going to eat for lunch/dinner since he doesn’t have the time or money to eat both. That fucking phone call with his dad—

Hot guy, hot guy, hot guy.

If Eskild’s home, he starts a conversation before Isak’s even unlocked the door. Most days, Isak mumbles something about being busy to escape. Today, he listens.

“No, but I really think I’ve found the one. I just need to talk to him, preferably when he’s not with his boyfriend—and I know, I know, Noora already lectured me, but you should _see_ him, Isak. And they’re one of those couples who know they’re going to break-up. They’re just biding time.”

Isak does not have that kind of time.

“Eskild?”

“Mm?”

“I could use some advice.”

Judging by Eskild’s expression, Isak just gave him the best moment of his life.

Before giving Eskild a chance to respond because who knows how the fuck long that will take, Isak quickly presents the scenario. “I met this hot guy in an elevator, I think he was flirting with me, but I’m not sure—"

“Hey, slow down,” Eskild says, proving he doesn’t understand Isak at all. “You just called a guy hot.”

Isak stares at him. “I’m gay.”

“Yes, yes, I know, your coming out was very moving.”

That’s not true. Isak was just really fucking drunk one night, and Eskild excels in drunken heart-to-hearts. He’s still the only person who knows.

“But,” Eskild continues. “You’ve never done anything with it. I don’t know if anyone’s told you this, but the best part of being gay is that you get to hook up with guys. I would highly recommend it.”

Isak rolls his eyes. “I just haven’t had time to like, meet people.”

“So the universe put someone on your elevator.”

“Maybe, I don’t know—it doesn’t matter, anyway. When would I even go on a date?”

“Oh, Isak. You have got to stop pretending that you’re more important than you are.”

“What?”

“Do you think you’re the only person who both works and goes to school? Everyone does it. Everyone’s busy. Everyone doesn’t use that as an excuse to be grumpy all the time—”

“I’m not—”

“Hold on, let me finish my tough-love pep talk. I’m very good at this.”

Isak shuts up.

“As I was saying before I was rudely interrupted,” Eskild says. “It’s just convenient that you’re ‘too busy’ to date. And ‘too busy’ to see your parents. ‘Too busy’ to consider why you’re really angry all the time.”

Eskild raises his eyebrows, keeping them raised until Isak says, “Yeah, I get it.”

“I understand that emotions are terrifying, good or bad. Trust me. But Isak, you have got to take the time to acknowledge them. It’ll make them easier to process.”

Isak nods. He would never, ever tell Eskild this, but he gives decent advice.

“Now,” Eskild says with a grin. “Let’s figure out exactly what happened between you and this hot guy.”

\---

Sonja moved out.

It wasn’t that bad, actually. It was time. And for once, the universe worked in Even’s favour, as his friend, Elias, was looking for somewhere to live.

Even’s carrying a box from the moving van when he sees Hot Elevator Guy again. He’s with Sana, both of them carrying boxes as they approach Even.

“I just wanted to personally thank you,” Sana says. “For getting Elias out of the house.”

“My pleasure,” Even says, then turns his attention to Hot Elevator Guy. “Nice to see you again.”

Hot Elevator Guy smiles. “You too.”

The connections are explained: Hot Elevator Guy, who later introduces himself as Isak, has classes with Sana. When he learned her brother was moving into his building, he offered to help out.

He’s considerate. Even might be in love.

\---

It happened again.

Isak stares at the washer full of damp clothes, contemplating life in a way is a bit much for doing laundry. He’s irritated, but at the same time, he doesn’t know this person’s life, what they have going on that makes it impossible for them to do a fucking load of laundry in a timely fashion—

Ok. It means he can’t put his own clothes in the wash at this very second. It’s objectively not a big deal. Worst case scenario, he asks Eskild to throw them in while he’s at class. It’s fine—it’s still kind of a dick move, but it’s fine—

“Can I give you some advice? If you’re stalking me, you might want to be less obvious about it.”

Isak startles at the voice, then turns around to place it: Even.

Even, who is currently reaching past him to the washer, then pulling the Biggie shirt out of it. _His_ Biggie shirt. “Shit,” he mumbles. “I always forget about my laundry. I need to set an alarm on my phone or something.”

“You’re Laundry Room Dick.”

“…Pretty forward, Isak.”

“No,” Isak says, then shakes his head to negate his own denial. “I mean, that’s not what I’m meant, not that I’m not interested in—I meant, you’re the guy who always leaves his clothes in the washer.”

Understanding flashes across Even’s face.

“And you’re the guy who always took them out.”

“Uh, yeah. I’m the reason for the sticky notes.”

“My ex wrote the sticky notes.”

And then, they’re both laughing because really, how the fuck else are they supposed to respond to this?

“Next time I forget my laundry,” Even says. “You can just text me.”

“I don’t have your number.”

Even sighs. “You were supposed to smoothly give me your phone and say: _I’ll need your number._ But I guess you can just give it to me now.”

Isak does just that, and Even returns his phone with his number entered as _Laundry Room Dick._ Complete with an eggplant emoji.

“The only problem is it might be awhile before I forget my laundry again,” Even says. “And I don’t enjoy waiting, so. What are you doing now?”  

Isak smiles. “Laundry.”

“Can it wait?”

“Absolutely.”


End file.
